The Secrets of Sunshine. Phaedra Patrick

from the bridge and didn’t include your name. I asked the general public to submit their stories and didn’t publish an email address. The news channel address was printed online, so people sent letters instead. And, here they are.’ She proffered them to him.

      Mitchell thought of all the envelopes stuffed in his nightstand drawer and he raised a palm. ‘Thank you, but I have plenty of my own.’

      Susan kept her hand outstretched. ‘My boss warned me not to mess up again. I thought you could help me out.’

      ‘Um, how?’

      ‘Perhaps by reading these letters and selecting a winner for the competition? They’re all addressed to you, anyway.’

      He shook his head. ‘Sorry, I want to move on from what happened.’

      She gave a defeated sigh. ‘I suppose I’ll just throw them away, then. Or leave them on my boss’s desk, where he’ll use them as coasters. He’s more interested in the sport and crime stories.’

      Mitchell glanced at the letters in her hand. He’d so enjoyed receiving the ones Anita sent him in the past. He wished he’d kept them to remind himself that she did love him, once. With some reluctance, he took the letters from Susan and hoped there weren’t any featuring red hearts among them.

      The top envelope was textured and white, already opened, so he slid out the letter and read it.

       Dear Sir/Madam,

       My neighbour read your story about the heroic man on the redbrick bridge, and I felt compelled to write and tell you mine.

       I was nineteen when I met Douglas and he was twenty-two. We met on the same red bridge, many years ago. The Second World War had just ended and the streets rang with cheering and laughter, as the entire city celebrated. Strangers kissed strangers and didn’t care who watched.

       I first saw him standing in the middle of the bridge in his army uniform. He looked so handsome and tall, like a matinee idol. Our eyes met. He said hello and I smiled back. For a while we were like small birds, a little shy of each other. But then he took off his hat and scooped me into his arms. I’d never kissed a man before and my first time was definitely the most memorable.

       Afterwards, Douglas apologized. ‘I got caught up in the moment,’ he said. ‘I usually treat ladies with respect.’ But I really didn’t mind. He insisted on walking me home and shook my father’s hand. ‘May I request your permission to take your daughter out one afternoon for tea, sir?’ he asked, and I tried not to smile, for we were already acquainted well.

       My father was a kind man and he liked Douglas straightaway. When we eventually got engaged and married, he was delighted to have a new gentleman addition to the family. I wonder if he’d have felt the same if he had seen us kissing on the bridge!

       My father died many years ago and Douglas passed on six months ago, God rest his soul. Today, I hung a padlock on the bridge in his memory. I’m almost blind now and use a cane, but I still felt Douglas beside me. ‘Chin up, old girl, give me a kiss,’ he said, and I laughed to myself. I suppose anyone who saw me must think me a foolish old woman, alone and chuckling. Yet inside I felt nineteen again, and there’s nothing foolish about that. At my age, it’s really rather lovely.

       With kind regards,

       Annie Rogerson (Mrs)

      The letter in Mitchell’s hands felt heavy with a lifetime of love, something he and Anita would never get to experience. An ache rose in his chest that she’d never write to him again. She wouldn’t get to read his own apologetic words and his throat tightened. ‘It’s a fine letter,’ he managed to say. ‘What should I do with it?’

      She shrugged at him. ‘It belongs to you now. You’re its keeper.’

      ‘I told you I have enough of them,’ he said and slipped it back with the others under the rubber band. ‘I am really busy.’

      She looked at him sadly. ‘You jumped into the water to help someone. I thought you’d be a nice guy. It’s up to you, but it would help me out immensely.’

      Mitchell thought of Anita again and shame bubbled inside him. She’d probably encourage him to do this. ‘This is only two days’ worth of letters, right?’ he confirmed. ‘More might arrive?’

      ‘I expect so.’

      ‘And you’d like me to read them all?’

      Susan fiddled with the fastening on her satchel. ‘Only if you want to.’

      Mitchell gave a small nod. ‘Well, okay then.’

      ‘See, I knew you’d be a good guy,’ she said. Bidding him goodbye, she grinned as she walked away.

      When Barry returned from his break, he stared at the letters in Mitchell’s hands. ‘Are you really going to read them?’

      Mitchell nodded. ‘I told Susan I’d do it.’

      ‘She wouldn’t know if you didn’t.’

      ‘I would know.’

      The two men resumed their positions next to the railings and began to examine the padlocks again.

      After a while, Mitchell picked up a lock and time stood still. It was gold, large and heart-shaped. ‘I think I’ve found it!’ he said to Barry excitedly. He read the words engraved into the metal.

      MY HEART IS ALWAYS YOURS.

      ‘What does it say?’ Barry asked.

      When Mitchell told him, his voice cracked but he couldn’t explain why. He ran a finger over the sharp ridges of the letters and read them over and over. It sounded stupid, but he felt the words could be meant for him.

      Barry handed him the rusty bolt cutters. ‘Here you go.’

      Mitchell didn’t take them. He had removed thousands of padlocks off the bridges of Upchester, but this one was different. ‘I can’t cut it off,’ he admitted eventually.

      ‘Why not?’ Barry demanded. ‘You got a cramp or something?’

      ‘No, I just think Yvette’s lock should stay on the bridge, where she wanted it to be. The message must mean something, and I don’t want the lock to be broken. Liza will want to see this, too.’

      Barry scoffed at him. ‘When you go back to hospital, you should get your head checked out, mate. That bump is doing weird things to your mind.’

      Mitchell touched the plaster above his ear. ‘I’ve got an appointment soon.’ When he stared at Yvette’s padlock again, he felt like wrapping his fingers around it to keep it safe.

      As he looked around him, at all the locks fastened to the bridge, he thought of how others saw them as love tokens. He tried to resist but couldn’t stop himself from glancing at a few padlocks and reading their words.

      TM. MARRY ME? PV

      TRISH AND PETE XXX

      WORD UP, FOREVER

      HONEYBEE LOVES WASP

      An unnerving picture flashed into his head, of a mountain of locks abandoned on a scrap heap with their messages rusting and flaking away. He found himself wondering if Honeybee might be a beekeeper. Were they a man or a woman? What kind of person called themselves Wasp?

      He reminded himself he was being paid to remove the locks, not consider the people who hung them there. However, as he reached out for Barry’s bolt cutters, his fingers were stiff and unresponsive. The locks had always been an irritant to him, just a way to earn a living, but now he wondered if his job cutting them off was like removing flowers from a grave. He thought about Annie’s letter and how her eyes met with